


Protector

by XxThorleifxX



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cute, Gen, Headcanon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 07:54:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16614938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XxThorleifxX/pseuds/XxThorleifxX
Summary: A short story about nostalgia.Originally posted on my tumblr, I figured that AO3 would be a better host for this short.





	Protector

Sigurd Haraldsson was just a handful of years old, in Personification terms. Did he know how abnormally small he was for his age, in human terms? Of course not. Did he know that within five more years he would grow rapidly to the point of appearing to be in his late teens? Definitely not. Did he know that in that time, he would grow to be strong and intimidating, and would sail to distant shores striking fear into the hearts of those opposed? Most certainly not. Nor did he care to know, to be quite frank. He was quite content with sitting in the woods, playing with the creatures that appeared around him (like Troll!), and splashing around in the fjords. 

Still, we must all grow old at some point. This applies to Nations as well as humans, just on a larger and more extended scale. But again, Sigurd Haraldsson did not care for this fact. He would much rather stay small and carefree. His small hands could pick up stones and stack them, his small feet could feel the soft grass below, and his small face could feel the warmth of the sun above. 

His father, Scandinavia, was not really his father. But he was a Personification like Sigurd, and he was someone who was able to put up with the smaller nation. That was enough for Sigurd, who did not need a lot in order to feel happy. So he called Scandinavia his Pappa, and treated the poor older nation as such. 

Sigurd was always one to adore stories, and his Pappa’s stories were his favorites. He would sit next to Pappa and a warm fire, absorbing every story that was uttered. Sometimes the stories were too long for Sigurd, and he would fall asleep before they were finished. This was never a problem though, because Pappa would just pick up the story the next night, right where they left off. Sure, Sweden and Denmark were there too, but they were always bickering or sleeping when Pappa began to tell his stories. Sweden used to say that they weren’t true, that none of the adventures of Harvardr the Brave were history, so he found no value in them. Denmark just couldn’t find the energy to focus on the story long enough to stay awake for more than the first few sentences. Sigurd adored the stories, though. His blue eyes were round and sparkling as Harvardr the Brave sailed the open seas, fighting sea monsters and conquering new lands that were filled with strange and gruesome trolls, powerful magic, suspicious people, and beautiful landscapes.

One day Pappa surprised Norway with a handmade doll. It was rather drab, an oval with four branches of excess fabric for arms and legs, but there were small lines etched onto the fabric face for eyes, a nose, and a mouth. It donned an embroidered coat and some makeshift pants, all secured with stitches to the body. The doll even had small tufts of fur on top of its head for hair, black in color and scruffy in appearance. Pappa said that the doll would protect him, no matter what. It was his own miniature Harvardr the Brave, and if Sigurd kept him near, he and Denmark and Sweden would always be safe. Overjoyed at receiving the doll, Sigurd couldn’t help but carry it with him wherever he went. In fact, long after his Pappa faded, the Norwegian kept hold of the doll, taking extra caution to protect it from harm.

It was, after all, one of the few trinkets from his brief childhood. When Sigurd picks up Harvardr the Brave, he picks up the memories of his Pappa, and memories of life before all of the wars and fighting. 

The little doll that sits on Norway’s pillow still, the one with lumps and patches and smudges, the one with the facial features that are barely defined, the one that has seen Sigurd through it all. It was never a matter of what name was stamped to the doll, it reminded Sigurd of peace. But more importantly, it reminded him of his Pappa, and kept the memory of old Scandinavia alive in his mind. Harvardr the Brave will be there with him until the very end, forever keeping vigil over Sigurd and keeping him safe.


End file.
